


Oh, Captain

by iaintafraidofnoghostbear



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Other, Oviposition, Tentacles, The Hockey Gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear
Summary: It's just a part of the post season.





	Oh, Captain

**Author's Note:**

> So there's vaguely implied dubcon. Claude knows he has to do this, as captain. He's accepted it. He's not necessarily super jazzed, however.  
> Also, this grew feelings. I didn't meant to.   
> Thanks to aggressivelybicaptainamerica for the beta!

Claude’s learned he has to keep it a secret from pretty much everyone when he’s going in. Wayne was the best at sussing out when Claude was going to do it and would try to intercept him every time, but Wayne’s not here anymore. Shaking his head, Claude diverts himself from that train of thought. He makes his way through the halls to the locker room, nodding at the odd staffer he passes along the way. He’d let management know that he would need the room for a couple of hours tonight, alone. They didn’t question it, to Claude’s surprise; he figures Chuck must know the deal to just give him what he asked for. 

 

The locker room is empty, clean and quiet in a way it never quite manages to be during the year, despite the equipment team’s hard work. In his stall are the supplies he asked for - water bottles, towels, and the first aid kid he always requests but has never needed. He hopes he never does. Locking the doors, Claude strips, folding his clothes and setting them on the bench next to his supplies. He can feel something building in the air, like static electricity, and it makes his hair stand on end. It only gets stronger as he steps toward the logo in the middle of the room, and he takes a deep breath before taking the last step onto it. 

 

Immediately, there’s a shift in the air. Claude shivers at the change, and almost jumps when something touches his ankle. It never gets much easier to stand still while tentacles wend their way up his legs and torso, feeling him up and coating his skin in sticky-wet fluid. He hates the swooping feeling in his stomach when they lift him up like he’s nothing, moved about like a plaything as more tentacles wrap around his arms and cushion his back. 

 

Claude closes his eyes and tries to stay calm, relaxed. The tentacles pet over his skin, exploring like they do every time. They ignore the little intake of breath when they brush his nipples and cock, giving them just as much attention as the backs of his knees or nape of his neck. For now, anyway. Claude has never been able to figure out why or when they’ll switch gears from exploring to purposeful touching. 

 

He knows when they do, one smaller tentacle encircling his cock. Two more start to rub and tweak at his nipples. Another presses behind his balls, gently stroking at the tender skin just behind. One more traces his lips, dipping inside to flick teasingly at his tongue when he opens his mouth. Claude whines when a tentacle finally touches his hole, rubbing circles around it until he settles into the sensation. The one in his mouth settles between his teeth, firming up enough that he can bite down on it, just holding it there. It’s one of the few ways Claude knows it remembers him; ever since his first year, when he’d nearly bitten through his lip, it’s given him a gag, muffling his noises even though the room is empty. 

 

Breathing out hard through his nose, Claude tries to stay relaxed as a tentacle nudges its way inside him. It goes slow, oozing more fluid until it’s dripping down. A jolt runs through him when it touches his prostate, and Claude writhes despite himself when it rubs over it steadily, curving itself so that it brushes along it as it pushes in further. There’s a moment of relief when it stops moving, only giving off a gentle pulse; then, it starts to thicken in waves until it has Claude stretched open to it’s satisfaction. Every wave presses on his prostate and - combined with the continued stroking of his cock and nipples - Claude shudders through an orgasm that feels like it’s literally been forced from his body. It’s not satisfying, and he stays hard despite the overstimulation as the tentacles keep touching. 

 

Eventually, the tentacle inside him stops expanding. He’s stretched wide, now, and he knows it’s almost time. There’s a shift to the tentacles holding him, and then he feels the first egg pressing against his rim. He’s spread so much that is hardly stretches him at all, popping in and sliding up deep inside. Claude can feel a flutter of movement as the tentacle settles it, but he can’t focus on it  for long. Another is pressing inside, and then another. 

 

One by one, they’re squeezed inside until Claude’s stomach is full, middle heavy and he’s hard again from all the sensation. There’s a gush of fluid inside him after the last egg - sperm, he’s always assumed - and then the tentacle is shrinking slowly, drawing back until it’s massaging over his prostate again. It works him mercilessly until he comes again, shuddering weakly. 

 

The tentacle in his mouth draws away, petting his cheek almost tenderly. Slowly, Claude’s lowered back to the floor, and the tentacles disappear. He’s achy, sticky with fluid and he can feel more slowly trickling out of him. It takes a couple of tries to get to his feet, and he stumbles to his stall. Spreading one of the towels out, he collapses on the bench, snagging a bottle of water and gulping it down. He’s always so  _ thirsty _ when he’s carrying eggs, and he starts in on another before an unpleasantly sloshy feeling settles in. 

 

When he feels like his legs will hold his weight, Claude gingerly pads to the showers, turning the water to as hot as he can stand; it’s the only way to get the fluid off him once it has started to dry. He watches the drain, waiting until it runs clear before shutting it off. There will still be fluid and come leaking from him for a few hours until the eggs settle and his body accepts the clutch, but there’s nothing much to be done about it now. He redresses and grabs a spare towel and another bottle of water before unlocking the doors. 

 

He’s not ready for Travis to be waiting in the hall. 

 

“What are you -” 

 

“Wayne said I should - that someone needed to be with you. He didn’t say why, but he said to come to the rink when I was called, to take you home.” 

 

Sighing, Claude tries to quell the ache and anger in his chest. “Who called you?” 

 

But Travis is already shaking his head. “Can’t, G. What . . . he didn’t tell me what you were doing. Are you okay?” 

 

“I’m fine. It’s just something I have to do. Captain shit.” 

 

“Yeah, well. You look like hell.” Travis bites his lip as soon as he’s spoken, clearly worried he’s overstepped, but Claude doesn’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. 

 

“Yeah, I bet.” Claude gives another sigh and feels a shift inside him, making him grimace. “You drive?” 

 

Travis shakes his head sharply. “No. Ubered.” 

 

“Alright, guess that means you’re on chauffeur duty.” Digging his keys out of his pocket, Claude tosses them at Travis. He can feel the kid watching him as they make their way to the parking lot, but Claude isn’t ready to talk yet. He’s still half pissed at Wayne for dragging Travis into this, but he also misses him with a ferocity that he hasn’t really felt until now. 

 

“So what-” Travis starts as soon as they’re on the road, but Claude cuts him off.

 

“It’s a captain thing. We - you know how people talk about the hockey gods?” 

 

“...Yeah?” Travis shoots him a sideways glance at that. 

 

“They’re not just. Superstition or whatever. And captains all have to pray a price. Especially the ones that don’t make the playoffs.” Claude waits for a red light to pull up his hoodie, exposing the swell of his stomach briefly. 

 

“G, what the fuck.” 

 

Yanking the fabric back down, Claude slumps in his seat to hide it again. “Eyes on the road,” he says shortly as the light turns green. “They’re like, offspring, I guess. We carry them, gift them back. Hope to earn more favor.” 

 

He’s cut off from getting any further in the explanation when his phone starts to ring. It’s not a surprise to see Wayne’s number on the caller ID and Claude doesn’t hesitate to pick up. “You told on me to the kids?” Claude bites out. 

 

“One kid. I knew TK would watch out for you,” Wayne says immediately, completely unapologetic. 

 

Claude’s quiet for a beat or two, closing his eyes. “Yeah. Thank you. But you get to explain the rest when we get home. I need a nap.” 

 

“Sure thing, man,” Wayne chuckles into the phone. “Sure thing.” 

  
  



End file.
